


I Prefer Blonds

by LokianaWinchester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Jealous Illya, M/M, Miscommunication, Stupid Spies In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Birthday present forel3anorrigbyworldfor the prompt "I prefer Blonds".Basically a jealous Illya and a happy ending ;)





	I Prefer Blonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [el3anorrigby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/gifts).



Illya was in love with Napoleon. It was terrible, because Napoleon was an asshole and Illya was about 95% sure he had never even had a relationship.

Illya craved stability in his life, he wanted something real and something lasting and realising he wanted all of that with Napoleon, had not been a great revelation.

Especially given that Napoleon was a terrible womaniser and had started seeing somebody recently. At least Illya was pretty sure he was. They were undercover, had been for weeks; this mission required them to earn the trust of their marks, and so they had been living together for that time. Every two days or so Napoleon snuck out, most likely to meet the pretty, young brunette woman Illya had seen waiting at the door a few times, expecting Illya to either not notice at all or keep quiet about it. It had not hindered them with their mission so far, so Illya had indeed kept quiet about it, even though he did not like it in the least.

 _Mine_ , shot through his mind and body whenever Napoleon returned, deep in the night and unsuccessfully tried not to wake up Illya when going to bed. But Napoleon was not his. Not really.

Illya loathed his situation.

“Don’t pretend to sleep bad,” Illya said one morning when Napoleon was yawning obscenely over his scrambled eggs. He had no right to complain when he willingly stayed out all night doing god knows what, god knows where with god knows whom. “I know you sneak out.” Illya frowned at him.

Napoleon’s eyes widened. The Cowboy always pretended to be so intelligent; how could he not know that he was waking up Illya night after night with his switching lights on and off, undressing, brushing his teeth, showering. He was not quiet. How was Illya supposed to sleep through that?

“So? It’s none of your business.” Napoleon snapped defensively.

“Oh, really? So is none of my business that you wake me up every night when I want to sleep? Or when you are so tired that it’s only matter of time until you ruin mission when you fall asleep in meeting. But no, is none of my business.”

Illya got up abruptly and went to their shared bedroom, locking the door behind him.

He heard Napoleon calling after him, but masterfully ignored him. He was getting way too angry about this and Napoleon had no right to hold that much power over him, especially because he did not even know he did.

A few minutes later, Napoleon knocked at the door.

“Come on, Peril. Let me in, I need to get dressed.”

Illya got up and turned the lock, then proceeded to ignore Napoleon. They went out to do their jobs for the day and Illya had little reason to think about Napoleon at all, but he was left with a bitter aftertaste whenever he did. Fighting with him did not feel right. He got home that night to an empty flat; Napoleon was still out for the day, so Illya went to set the table. The least he could do was apologise and have some dinner ready for him.

He got some of the bread he had picked up from a bakery across the street, some cheese, ham and made a simple salad. Then he took a shower. The later it got without Napoleon showing up, the more on edge Illya was. He did not even know whether to be angry at him or worried for his safety. When he did come back at last, it was with a bang on the door and a heavy sigh.

“Cowboy?” Illya called and peered down the hall towards the door.

Napoleon sat on the floor, slumped against it.

“Are you alright?” Illya asked and hurried over to him. Napoleon did not appear to be injured anywhere, but maybe Illya just did not see it at the moment.

“Yeah. Don’t worry.” Napoleon said and got back onto his feet. “Just tired.”

Illya swallowed down the frustration. It was nobody’s fault but Napoleon’s own, that he was exhausted, but he wanted to apologise, even if Napoleon was insisting on being an absolute brat.

He sat down at the table and took a sip of his water. A minute later, Napoleon joined him. They ate their dinner in silence.

“I wanted to apologise for what I said this morning,” Illya said when Napoleon got up to put his plate away.

He stood up as well.

“It’s okay. I’ll try to be more quiet,” Napoleon replied and proceeded to tidy up the table.

Illya stayed quiet for a moment.

“Who is it?” he asked eventually.

“Huh?”

“Who is the girl you’re dating?” Illya repeated.

Napoleon stopped in his tracks, set the tray he was carrying aside and stepped closer to Illya.

“You think I’m going on dates?” Napoleon asked, in a strange tone of voice.

“Yes, young woman waiting out front, pretty, dark-haired… I think you’re going on dates.”

Napoleon stepped even closer.

“I prefer blonds.” He said. Illya’s breath hitched. Napoleon was watching him closely, eyes wandering down towards his lips, then up to meet Illya’s eyes again.

“What are you trying to say, Cowboy,” Illya said in a low voice.

“They’re not dates. Because, Peril,” Napoleon brought up one hand to cup Illya’s jaw. Illya was frozen on the spot unable to pull back. “I’ve been trying to land you for the past months.”

The blue in Napoleon’s eyes was almost entirely gone, his pupils wide, and his grin wider as he watched Illya’s train of thought wrecking his brain.

“What?” he gasped. A pathetic sound, but Napoleon’s self-satisfied grin only grew.

“Maybe if I kiss you, you’ll understand,” Napoleon had the guts to say and Illya could not help but enthusiastically pant out ‘yes’.

And then Napoleon’s lips were on his own and Illya completely short-circuited. He shoved the American backwards against the counter and lifted him up without breaking the kiss; a desperate sound left Napoleon’s throat. He opened his lips to probing strokes of Illya’s tongue and wrapped his legs around Illya’s middle, while the latter pulled him close with both hands against Napoleon’s waist. He let them wander down to cup the firm butt cheeks, squeezed and grinned into the kiss when Napoleon let out another choked moan.

When they broke apart, it visibly took Napoleon a second to gather his wits.

“Were you jealous? She’s a friend from work, I was whining to her about you, you daft Russian.” He laughed weakly.

“Okay,” Illya replied. The way Napoleon had kissed him, left no doubt about his feelings.

“Consider me landed.”

Napoleon’s only response was a humorous glint in his eyes, before he surged forward to capture Illya’s lips in another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and as always, feel free to feed me your love and affection via kudos and comments. I live for those <3


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